


amnesia

by limerental



Series: Witcher Ficletvember 2020 [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Cuddling, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:48:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27527905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limerental/pseuds/limerental
Summary: The girl is not hungover or otherwise impaired, the stink of enchantments hitting him before Geralt has even reached the landing on the narrow stairs that lead to the bard’s rented rooms. Soot and copper and something else, something familiar.Ficletvember Day 2 - prompt: amnesia
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher Ficletvember 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012020
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	amnesia

“Ah, Geralt! There you are!”

Geralt looks up from his untouched morning meal of soggy groats, peering through the haze of cigar smoke that fills the mess hall of the boarding house even so early in the day. He does not quite have the patience or time to deal with the bard’s theatrics, not when last night Yennefer had not met him at their first planned rendezvous or their second. Geralt has been reluctantly forced to fall back to their third option which is, infuriatingly, wait as instructed until something happens.

Jaskier, ignorant of or used to his tense mood, flops onto the stool across from him and leans to inspect Geralt’s meal for anything worth stealing.

“Morning, good morning, I’ve uh, well, I’ve acquired something of a charity case since we last parted.”

“Is that some code for something I’m meant to be savvy to?”

“Yes, yes, you old man, it’s code for I found a lost girl last night with not a lick of memory. Must have bumped her head or something. And very poorly dressed. Barefoot on the streets. Brought her back to my room to–”

“Jaskier.”

“Oh hush, always thinking the worst of me, Geralt. It’s truly offensive. I fetched her some clothing and was quite gentlemanly. She’s still sleeping.”

“And?”

“And we’re going to help her.”

“I’m busy.”

“What with your erm… what were you doing with Yennefer again? Tracking that mage?”

“She didn’t meet me last night.”

“Oh.”

“Could be trouble.”

“Right, yeah, and what’s the plan then?”

“Wait for her,” Geralt grits out. He hates this plan. But trusts Yennefer. The mage is dangerous and potentially ornery, and this is Yennefer’s business, Geralt involved only by chance meeting and because she allowed it. Nothing to be done.

“Mmmm riveting. Sounds like you simply have too much on your plate to help one poor young maiden. Booked full.”

Geralt sighs.

If this is just another of Jaskier’s more elaborate methods of wooing some poor, confused, likely hungover girl, then he will have some choice words to say.

* * *

The girl is not hungover or otherwise impaired, the stink of enchantments hitting him before Geralt has even reached the landing on the narrow stairs that lead to the bard’s rented rooms. Soot and copper and something else, something familiar.

The room is sparse but comfortable, a spare cot placed by the crackling fire and a lumpy shape on the mattress by the window. A woman, curled in a fetal position, slight and olive-skined, lies dressed in one of Jaskier’s blue undershirts, her dark hair tangled across the pillows. At the sound of the door closing behind them, she startles awake and shoves herself up, the oversized shirt slumping off one shoulder and hair a mess of frizz.

Geralt knows her at once and in the same breath, she is a stranger. He grunts, his mind blurring as he resists whatever magic lies heavily on her. Simply requires some concentration.

“Here she is then, Geralt this is– ah yes, she’s forgotten her name. Poor dear. We can fix that though, yes? My friend is here to help you.”

“I know her.”

“Er…”

“It’s a memory enchantment. I could push through it with a bit of time.”

“Right, right, don’t allow me to hold you back. Get right on that. Push on through.”

“And quiet.”

“Peace and quiet, yes, yeah. Undoubtedly. Makes a good bit of sense.”

“Jaskier?” asks the woman, her voice soft and touched by uncertainty. “Is it too late to come back to bed? My head is killing me."

She gestures with an open palm, the other resting on her folded knees, as though expecting the bard to settle down with her on the mattress.

Jaskier reaches to take her hand.

Geralt gives him a Look.

"Thought you didn’t–”

“I didn’t! She had a nightmare. She–”

“I’m no maiden,” says the girl. “I don’t need your protection.”

“Haven’t you lost your memory? How could you know that?”

She goes a bit cross-eyed in consideration of this. Jaskier settles onto the bed beside her, his arm snug around her shoulders. She lets out an unsteady breath and slumps against him, turning her forehead into his side. Jaskier ignores Geralt’s disapproving look to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

“Geralt can help. He’ll moan about it, but he’s plenty good at helping. Except with sums, I swear, that man cannot count to ten to save his–”

“Jaskier. Concentration.”

“Right. I’ll just let you–”

“Jaskier!”

Geralt breathes through his nose, eyes closed, allowing the room to fall away and the enchantment to thrum around him. Wood-ash and smoke, a sharp, acrid scent, then lilacs and–

He opens his eyes to see Yennefer cradled under the bard’s arm, brow relaxing its deep grooves as he hums something into her hair.

It may take only her name to dispel the fog in her mind and lift the curse.

Geralt hesitates.

“Would you sing the one you did last night?” Yen mutters, meant for only Jaskier to hear. How vulnerable she looks, voice heavy with sleep. “The one about the nightingale?”

He relents at once, whispering the lyrics against her hair, shifting subtly back and forth in time to the melody. How small Yennefer looks curled up next to Jaskier, how strangely well-suited they appear to one another. They scarcely can stand each other at the best of times, falling into nagging and bickering when forced into close proximity.

Not so now.

Yennefer balls her hands into fists against her the bard’s chest, her lashes dark against her cheeks. Jaskier’s eyes drift shut, cheek against the crown of her head, shaping the lilting tones of the lullaby with rounded mouth.

Oh, neither of them are ever going to live this down.

“I know who she is,” says Geralt softly, loathe to break the moment.

“And?”

“It will have to break naturally. Memory is fickle. Dangerous to mess with.”

“And when will that be?”

“Not long. It’s a strong enchantment. But not for one such as her.”

“Come to bed,” whispers Yennefer against Jaskier’s neck, her jaw stretching in an exaggerated yawn. “Fucking exhausted. Sing me the one about the housecat and the fiddle.”

“Right away, my lady.”

* * *

Geralt feels the curse break just past midday, Yennefer tensing suddenly in the sleeping bard’s arms, her head lifting from his chest.

“Geralt,” she says stiffly, rousing him from his light meditation near the threshold of the room. “How much did I fucking drink last night? And please, if I embarrassed myself – which I clearly did – tell me it wasn’t in public.”

“You’ll be the talk of this town for ages.”

“Shut up, Witcher. What did I–”

“Memory curse. On you and around you.”

“Amateur bastard,” she cursed. “He could have at least cast something more creative.”

Jostled by her shifting and griping, Jaskier awakes with a sleepy moan, soon swallowed by a shrill squeak of alarm as he recognizes his bed partner. He seems ready to attempt a dramatic escape off the other side of the bed if not for the body pinning his arm.

“Yennefer! Lovely to er… remember you!”

“Good morning, darling. Give us a kiss,” drawls Yennefer.

Jaskier blanches, looking from the mage in his arms to Geralt and back again, until his floundering is finally interrupted by his brain properly kicking back on.

“You!” He points at Yennefer who blinks at him innocently. “You made me sing you lullabies.”

“Mmm doesn’t sound like me.”

“And you!” He swings to point at Geralt. “You knew and didn’t say anything! Gah!”

Yennefer shoves herself up, narrowing her eyes. Uh-oh.

“You knew? And allowed this idiot to rock me in his arms like a babe?”

“You looked peaceful,” says Geralt.

“Mmmm,” hums Yennefer.

“Oh!” Jaskier exclaims, his hand curling around Yennefers hip as he snuggles down into the warmed linens. “I slept with Yennefer of Vengerberg.”

Yennefer’s violet eyes gleam.

“You have permission to beat him,” says Geralt.

“When did I ever need your permission to do anything?”

Alarmed shouts echo through the walls of the boarding house.

But that night, music.


End file.
